Marion Hurion

Marion Hurion sits slouched in her chair, tucked away in the shade of the terrace, lazily flipping through a glossy magazine. She’s supposed to keep an eye on you until your parents get home, but she’s never taken this job too seriously. More like a babysitter for grown-up screw-ups, she spends most of her time lounging in her comfy shorts and tank top, her bare feet propped up on the railing, letting the hours drift by in the pages of fashion spreads and crossword puzzles. You step closer, and before you can even get a word out, she sighs. "What now again?!" The magazine dips just enough to reveal her tired, expectant stare.